


The Nameless Grace

by tenrousei_kuroi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breathplay, Brother/Brother Incest, Domestic Violence, M/M, Sirius Black Fest, Sirius Black Fest 2020, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenrousei_kuroi/pseuds/tenrousei_kuroi
Summary: Sirius Black is a work in progress. His brother is collateral damage.
Relationships: Orion Black/Walburga Black, Regulus Black/Sirius Black
Comments: 11
Kudos: 80
Collections: Sirius Black Fest 2020





	The Nameless Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to MaddieBonanaFana for banishing all my typos!

Sirius Black was a normal child at first. While in her later years, Walburga Black would insist he’d been rotten from the start, those first few years were peaceful. It wasn’t until his sixth birthday that Sirius Black first began to worry her.

He was too...docile. Too sweet. Sirius Black was often found trundling about in the back garden, poking at insects and picking flowers to carry into his little brother’s nursery. He would spend hours staring out the windows. When the robins sang morning rhapsodies, he hummed along with them. When the sparrows broke their necks on the window panes, he cried.

Orion Black would not want an heir like this. He’d been quite vocal about it already. She must be doing something wrong. And so Walburga set about hardening her oldest son. Orion would be gone to Spain until the next summer, and she hoped Sirius would show marked improvement by then.

For months she tried to dissuade Sirius from his softer habits. She yelled and slapped. She took away toys and refused him sweets. She made him watch when it came time to dispose of their elderly house elf.

But none of it seemed to work, because in July of 1965, Orion Black returned from Madrid to find Sirius Black seated upon his brother’s bed, weaving a crown of flowers into his hair.

Orion Black stepped into the room, Walburga trailing nervously behind him. For a second, Regulus looked confused.

“Hi Mum,” he said, before his eyes trailed over to his father and he stared blankly.

“Hello, Father,” Sirius filled in for his brother. Regulus was still staring at Orion as though he wasn’t quite sure Sirius was telling the truth.

Orion’s voice was a low buzzing in Walburga’s ears, his words a blur. She felt guilty about each harsh epithet he threw at her children, and relaxed a little when he turned his anger towards her instead.

“Look at what you’ve _done_ to him!”

He was right. She needed to do better.

* * *

By the time he was ten, Sirius’s hands no longer gently plucked flowers. No longer would he run his fingers slowly through his brother’s hair. He ignored the birds and the garden. Instead he grew distant, and Walburga caught him multiple times with a fistful of Regulus’s hair, his free hand poised to slap the younger boy for not listening.

She should stop him, she knew. But Orion seemed more content with Sirius when he acted out like this, for Sirius still yielded to his parents. He’d turned violent and almost cruel, but he still performed well for the tutors, was dignified in the company of relatives, and most importantly, mimicked back what he heard his parents say.

 _The muggles and mudbloods are weak, and those that are weak shan’t have the rights same as I._

_Those that are weak...shan’t have the same rights as I._

Regulus would be okay. She would check in with him later. At this juncture, it was Sirius who took priority.

* * *

In his eleventh year, what had once calmed Walburga was gone, for Sirius no longer shrank when confronted. His brazen behavior—which had previously manifested only in interactions with his brother—was starting to creep into his relationship with both his parents. Suddenly he was snarky and sullen. He picked fights and refused to wear proper wizarding robes during the summer. He was starting to argue against the very ideals with which he’d been raised, and seemingly did so just because he could.

Orion was quick to blame Hogwarts, and its muggle-loving administration. Walburga nodded silently along with his numerous tirades, but she was worried less about Sirius’s schoolmates and more about herself. Had she failed to fully impart on her son the importance of his blood status? The Lestranges had sent their sons to Durmstrang. Should she have done the same?

Sirius seemed to be slipping from her grasp. Like sand, she’d squeeze tighter, only to see him fall further and faster away.

She was failing, her life’s work crumbling around her.

* * *

Sirius turned sixteen with little celebration. By then frustrated and exhausted with his heir’s behavior, Orion had made it plainly clear that Sirius’s birthday was to be largely ignored. And so the day opened stonily, with Orion having his usual morning coffee while he pored over some Ministry documents—he didn’t even raise his eyes from the papers when Sirius entered the room. Walburga stirred sugar into her tea almost frantically.

The day was unnecessarily tense, and Walburga worried Sirius might cause a scene. He certainly loved to sew discord.

But any storm inside Sirius was quelled. That evening while she sat in the lesser drawing room, Walburga saw from out of the corner of her eye her youngest son sneaking what looked suspiciously like a wrapped present upstairs, no doubt for the heir apparent.

Ah, and what of Regulus? She wondered. He was such an obedient—almost subservient—child. In her efforts to mold her oldest, Walburga admitted to herself that Regulus had mostly slipped through the cracks.

As that summer drew to a close, Walburga made an effort to seek out Regulus Black more often. Already a part of her was certain that Orion’s attentions would also soon turn to their younger child. If Sirius continued to stray, Orion would want to make sure Regulus was ready to take his place, and Walburga was worried he wasn’t.

Regulus had been a soft child, too, and she’d largely ignored him, left him in the care of his brother and whatever schoolmates he’d befriended. Images of the stupid flower crowns and grass bracelets a younger Sirius had adorned Regulus with began to haunt Walburga as she worried.

It was time to see how much damage had been done.

* * *

On a rainy Saturday night deep into July, Walburga told the house elf to fetch Regulus to her. The unsightly creature obeyed immediately, eager to please, yet it was an uncomfortably long while before the boy finally joined her in the sunroom. Oddly, he refused to come further than the threshold, remaining partially encased in shadow.

“Regulus, dear, won’t you come in? I wanted to talk with you for a moment.”

But Regulus refused to come closer, insisting that he was busy—that _Sirius_ needed him.

“Enough of that boy! I am your mother, and I wish to speak with you. Whatever Sirius thinks he needs, it can wait.”

Regulus was silent for a moment, but then said softly, “What is it you wanted to talk about, then?”

“Oh, just...” but Walburga’s voice faltered. What should she say? His schooling? Friends? She knew nothing about any of it. She was just about to make up a discussion about a possible marriage arrangement when Regulus shifted just so...moving his weight from one foot to the other and in doing so, exposing one forearm to the light.

And Walburga saw the bruises. Ugly yellow and black streaks that encircled his slim arms. In a flash she was up and before Regulus could scamper away, she’d grabbed him, pulled him into the light of the sunroom.

Regulus was absolutely painted with bruises and welts, with most being—horrifyingly—concentrated to his wrists and neck, although they appeared not to stop at the hem of his shirt.

“Who has done this to you? We should go to the hospital immediately.”

Regulus bit an already broken lip. He began to blush—a reddening that was easily lost on the freshly slapped skin of his face. He seemed taken aback, or at least confused, by Walburga’s desire to take him to a healer.

“M’fine,” he insisted. “And there’s no need. Sirius can patch me up.”

Walburga got no further answers from Regulus that night. He would neither confirm nor deny that someone in the house had hurt him. Walburga was certain it had been Sirius, and judging by Regulus’s perplexed responses, she worried that on many a rainy night like this one, Regulus had sat upstairs in his room: bruised, bleeding and completely ignored.

From then on, Walburga made efforts to separate Sirius from his brother. She made him pack up his things and move down a flight of stairs. She made Regulus move his bedroom, as well, up a flight and down next to the master suite where she and Orion still usually slept together.

Orion had been mystified by her insistence. Not wanting to admit just yet that things were going so very wrong, she lied and said she’d wanted to repurpose Regulus’s old room as a sewing room, and she complained that Sirius needed to stay in a room with no fireplace floo access—to curb his nighttime meanderings.

Orion didn’t believe a word she said, but his mind was occupied by other things and so he let it go. Soon after, he left again for a business stay, this time in France. He was not due to return until the dog days of August. Walburga wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or terrified to have him out of the picture for a few months. Perhaps she could fix this mess before he got back.

* * *

For over a fortnight, Walburga thought she was keeping her children separated. Only when she was present to supervise were they permitted to be together. She kept Regulus busy with his tutors and sent Sirius on as many errands as she could think of—tasks which caused no shortage of complaining from the teenager.

She made sure to send them to bed one at a time, and well before herself. Then, like a nervous new parent fresh home from the hospital, she’d check on them each before retiring. The house elf had been ordered to wake her if it ever caught one sneaking out of his room.

But a late August thunderstorm proved just how badly she had failed.

Orion was back, and sleeping next to her. Normally Walburga dreaded the nights she had to share with her husband. He’d never been a generous lover and when it came time to actually sleep, she’d always preferred spreading out in a bed all to herself. Yet here he was, sleeping soundly enough to rival the dead while she sat up in misery, unable to rest with the lightning and the thunder.

Frustrated, she gave up and rose—a little sore and aching—to fix herself a late night drink.

Her path to the kitchen meant passing Sirius’s new bedroom, and on a whim, she opened it.

Empty.

Her blood chilled. At first, Walburga was certain Sirius Black had snuck out again, as he was often wont to do, likely to meet up with that Potter boy. Yet something tugged at her mind…

She returned upstairs to check Regulus’s room and found it similarly empty. Convinced they were both still in the house somewhere, she returned to her bedroom for her wand and then set off to find them.

With a few quiet spells she tracked them down: the downstairs study. Here was a place so deep within the recesses of the house that the noise of the thunderstorm did not reach. Here it was eerily still.

This was a room mostly abandoned within Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Orion had a much nicer study on the second floor and Walburga had never had much use for it. So it had sat, something of a store room for miscellaneous texts, furniture and paperwork, all of it gathering dust.

Walburga was set to open the door wide and loudly interrupt the two boys, when a muffled yelp stilled her hand.

Regulus’s voice was very subdued...magically so. There was a silencing charm cast on the door, but not one strong enough to quite stop all sounds, and so Regulus’s cries were muffled, but audible.

Another cry, followed by a groan. _“Please.”_

Horrified and curious, Walburga raised her wand to her own head. Disillusionment had never been her forte, but she’d do a passable job. And so she opened the door as silently as possible, moving it just barely enough to see inside.

She had to clap a hand to her mouth to stop herself from yelling out loud.

Regulus was there, yes, and so was his brother. Both of them were just barely framed within the corner of the room she could see through the partially opened door.

Whatever she had been expecting, it was not this. Sirius stood there, as naked as Adam himself. His skin glowed in the flickering candlelight, and his lengthening hair fell sleekly around his face. Sirius’s skin had a sheen where the light touched it—he was sweating, droplets running down the hollow of his throat, the twists of muscle in his arms…

And Regulus. Walburga’s heart nearly stopped. There was Regulus, her youngest, her baby...her poor, oft-overlooked baby...spread painfully out against the large desk in the corner. His back bent harshly over the side, his arms arched out over his head, bound to something Walburga couldn’t quite see from this angle, the desk leg, perhaps?

And Regulus was not naked. At least, not quite. He was bound up fiercely in some sort of contraption. A corset, almost. With long ties and harsh divots. In the faltering light, it seemed a deep navy blue, the ties a bright white.

In his hands, Sirius held the bindings, and as Regulus whimpered beneath him, he pulled them tighter.

“Hurts,” Regulus panted. Sirius slapped him smartly on the cheek and leaned forward, pressing slick skin on skin. He grabbed Regulus’s neck in a bone-crushing grip and breathed harshly into his ear, “Did I tell you you could speak?”

“No...”

Sirius leaned back and pulled the contraption one clip tighter, yanking Regulus painfully up from the desk a few inches. “ _Sir!_ No, sir!”

“Better,” Sirius cooed. He stroked the side of Regulus’s face, his neck, his shoulder. He ran his fingers up Regulus’s arm and kissed his ear.

Walburga was shaking, could barely stay standing. That this was real, that things had escalated to this level, that this had happened—was _happening—_ in her house…

Regulus whimpered that he couldn’t breathe and Sirius slapped him again, threatened to gag him, threatened to _cane_ him, and Walburga nearly vomited into her hands. For a second, Sirius disappeared from her view and she panicked that he might have caught her, but then he returned to Regulus’s side, briskly palming a slow-growing erection.

Walburga closed her eyes and tried to keep breathing. She covered her ears with her hands and took a step back into the hall but it was no good, she could still _hear._ Could still hear Regulus’s keening cry as Sirius entered him, his frantic pleas for a respite from what sounded to be a brutal pace, his very _breath_ staggering each time Sirius struck him.

When Regulus’s pleading descended into incoherent begging and crying, Walburga dared to open her eyes again. The two boys had moved. At some point Sirius had released Regulus from his bindings, including the corset, and had slung him belly-first over a discarded settee to finish. Walburga watched numbly as Sirius came down from a brutal high and staggered upright, sweating profusely and breathing so hard he coughed.

Walburga swallowed, steeling herself. For a moment, she thought of waking Orion, but decided against it. She wasn’t sure how he would react, or what he would deign to believe. And if he knew, he would...he would certainly take Regulus down, as well. He would not see reason. He would blame Walburga...he would blame _Regulus._ She tightened her grip on her wand and got ready to do something—anything.

Sirius was dressing quickly. He hiccupped once and ran a frantic hand through his hair, brushing sweaty fringe from his eyes.

“Where are you going?” Regulus’s voice was hoarse from the fresh bruises on his throat and he moved achingly slow. With great care, he sat up on the couch, stretching his battered arms out in front of him, assessing the damage.

“Go to sleep, Regulus,” Sirius ordered, but his voice faltered in a way Walburga had never heard before. “I’ll—I’ll get you a blanket, and—”

“Sirius…?” Regulus was staggering to his feet, voice rasping, movements swayed. As he regained his voice and balance he approached his brother, who eyed him critically. Regulus reached a hand to his throat to rub gingerly at the humming bruises. In the firelight, some of them glinted very darkly…older by far than just that evening.

Regulus looked up through lidded eyes as he leaned into his brother. “Sirius,” he repeated. Slowly, a jackal-like grin spread over his face. His fingers gripped tightly at his own neck. “...Do it again.”

Walburga could hardly believe the sheer venom in Regulus’s eyes. How dangerous he looked, how...cruel. And to see Sirius backing away, looking on in horror at the monster he and his mother had created.

“ _Look at what you’ve_ done _to him!”_

She stayed just long enough to see Sirius stagger back one step...two steps before relenting.

Then she turned and ran, not caring how loudly the door swung shut behind her.

* * *

The next morning, Sirius Black’s bed was empty.

At the kitchen table, Walburga sat rigidly next to her husband, who was sitting as he did every morning with a large cup of coffee and many official papers. Only the stone stillness of his eyes—never moving along the page—betrayed that anything was wrong.

Regulus, for his part, looked quite chipper. Instead of his normal seat at the corner of the table, he had taken Sirius’s, right across from Orion. And in his hand he twirled his wand. Walburga noticed he was wearing one of Sirius’s vile muggle band t-shirts. There was a certainty in Regulus’s eyes, and an almost predatory gleam as he hummed idly to himself, tearing apart a scone with his fingers.

Sirius Black could run, but he would never be able to hide.


End file.
